


Sweet Words

by Fortunato



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortunato/pseuds/Fortunato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been [0 weeks] without anyone questioning that Malika Cadash is the Herald of Andraste.</p><p> </p><p>You can only tell people what they want to hear for so long until someone figures what's up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Words

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place very early in the game, before they travel to Val Royeaux. 
> 
> After looking at my Malika, I knew for certain that if Varric did give her a nickname, it'd be Snowflake.
> 
> You can find the corpse in Winterwatch Tower. Malika's 'stone sense'/find button kept spotting something I couldn't see until I looked up and spotted a corpse in the rafters.
> 
> Immediate looting.

The breach shifted and glowed in the night sky, so bright no one would see the moon. Again. Malika Cadash drew her knees up to her chest as it let off a bolt of green lightning into the clouds. Her hand gave a low pulse and she tightened it into a fist.

She'd been on the roof of the chantry for three hours now, her armour and cap insulating her from the cold. No one had seen her climb up. The breach was what you saw when you looked into the sky, and so people had avoided looking upwards and seeing her.

That's why when she heard the thump of Varric tossing himself onto the edge of the roof she shrieked and nearly fell off.

"Calm down there, Snowflake. I'm just here to visit," he gasped out, clinging to the roof like he was going to be flung off by vengeful gravity. "You're a hard girl to find. Give me a hand, I'm too young and beautiful to die."

Malika crawled over and gripped Varric's hand in her own, pulling him up to safety.

"You're a dwarf. You're meant to be on the _ground_ , sweetheart," said Varric. He put his back against a raised area of the roof for stability. "On it. In is optional. I don't like in, so you don't have to like in."

"Varric, why did you follow me up here?" she asked. She tucked a stray piece of white hair behind her ear.

"Because I want to tell you I'm onto you," he said and then Malika noticed Varric's hand on Bianca. He followed her gaze. "Just a precaution. Look, I traveled with Garrett Hawke. He said a lot of inspirational things. He was good and kind to everyone he met. But even he wasn't diplomatic a hundred percent of the time. No one can be."

Malika shrunk back and Varric continued.

"You, on the other hand, always seem to know exactly what to say to make people happy. You cried over the lost while your head was on the chopping block. Plus you've got everyone so sweet on you no one's thought to ask why you were even there in the first place," he said. "I know why. You, Snowflake, are Carta. And Carta aren't sweethearts. I'm not sure how Cassandra is justifying the skull face tattoo you've got going on. But you walk and talk like a noble lady and I have to admit, it's a great act. Take it from a professional liar. No wonder everyone's taken in by you."

Malika could feel the weight of her knives on her back, but she ignored them. If this was how it was going to end, it had been a wild ride. She liked Varric too much to do anything to him.

"I never meant to hurt anyone," she said.

"Why were you there? Reasons. Not feelings. I know I can't trust what you say you feel."

Malika rested on her knees, fists balled over them. One hand gloved, one hand bare.

"The Carta sent me there to spy. I... wasn't there to hurt anyone," she said softly.

Varric snorted. "I've seen you fight. You're the last person I'd send to hurt someone. Remember those sellswords? You had your eyes closed and you were flailing those daggers three feet away from your target."

Malika flushed.

"Just spying then. I guess wars are bad, or good, for Carta business. Family business?"

Malika shook her head. "It was. There's just me now, working for others."

"Herald of Andraste's a step up, then."

"I'm doing this for the right reasons, Varric. It pays terribly, being a holy figure."

"Bull, I saw how much gold you were getting off those bodies."

Malika kept the soft, repentant look on her face. "Oh. Well. I--"

"Don't. I'm not mad at you, Snowflake. Don't lie to me. I could be anywhere but here, but I stayed. You don't have to justify why you stayed either. But if you're gonna keep telling people what they want to hear, it's not going to go well when you tell them what you really think. And that moment will come. I promise you that," he said, resting his head back and gazing at the breach.

It had begun to snow powdery snowflakes. The snow did nothing to dim the green glow of the breach.

Malika scooted closer to Varric. He'd confused her at first. She'd never reacted to a man like that before. After deep thought and staring sleeplessly at the ceiling, she'd eventually decided his lack of beard had given her a false response.

"I do want to help."

"You want to survive. And your hand is the only way we're going to. But you know what? I heard you tell Cassandra you believed in the Maker. And now you're telling people you're sent by Andraste," Varric looked her in the eye. "That sounds a lot more like Cassandra's party line than yours."

"Please don't tell her. She'll be so disappointed. She's... she's not doing well, Varric." And Malika meant it. She could see Cassandra was hurting deeply. Cassandra was beautiful and strong and Malika didn't like seeing her in pain. She wasn't sure if they could be friends, but she could do what she could to help, right?

"Well, Snowflake, then you better learn your Chant or figure out some way for the topic to never, ever, come up again. Why did the Carta send you? You can't fight, you can't confront people..."

"I'm extremely good at getting places," she said. "And I've got a stone sense, even above ground. If you just need me to stand and watch something, I'm quite skilled at that." She tried to look proud of herself. Being a spy wasn't easy. Being a fighter was even harder, for her. She would never tell Varric, but she'd killed her first man beside him in the Hinterlands.

"Stone sense? Really?" Varric rubbed his chin. "So _that's_ why you're always jackrabbiting around at stuff no one else sees until you've dug it up."

He grinned.

"And how you found that corpse in the rafters. One moment you're with us, the next you're out a window walking like a billy goat across rickety old boards." He laughed. "Snowflake, you're a fine example of dwarven adaptation!"

"I'll try to be more honest. I know you don't believe me, but I will," said Malika. "I was scared."

"Sweetheart, I'd be scared too. You were in a dangerous situation. I'm not giving you this advice because I'm mad," Varric reached out and touched one of her hands. "I'm giving it to you because I keep ending up taking care of all these crazy people I meet. I want you to remember, before you get too much into this herald business... they burned Andraste at the stake. And the mercy they gave her was being run through with a sword. Consider playing it a little further from the chest."

Malika gave a short nod.

"Everyone always wants their own cult, but they're just so much work, Snowflake."


End file.
